


The Shortest Night of the Year

by cozythunderstorm



Series: Rook's Prologue [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: F/F, Fae & Fairies, Homebrew Content, Homebrew Setting, Implied Sexual Content, King's Road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozythunderstorm/pseuds/cozythunderstorm
Summary: Three fics based on three level 0 Dungeons & Dragons adventures I ran 1-on-1 for my girlfriend, to explain how her character became a warlock.Part 1 - On Midsummer's Eve, Rook is pulled into the woods around her village, and drawn into the world of otherworldly spirits that will change her life forever.
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Rook's Prologue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582087
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on a level 0 D&D game that my girlfriend and I played to explain how her character became a warlock.
> 
> Part 1 of 3

Rook set the barrel down at the top of the cellar steps, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Pulling in a breath, she hefted it again and carried it through the busy kitchen. She pushed the door into the inn’s common room open with her back and hoisted the barrel up onto the bar before stopping to catch her breath again.

Elias paused while gathering a handful of earthenware mugs. “Thank you, Bridget,” he said with a smile.

“Hm?” Rook looked up at the innkeeper in half surprise. “Oh. Of course.”

Elias picked up the last of the mugs and motioned at the barrel. “Can you carry that out?”

Rook hesitated, glancing out the open door of the inn. Although the sun had already set behind the western ridge of the valley, its golden light lingered in the summer evening. Sounds from the festival spilled inside, and she could see the edge of the crowd that was clustered around the village well. It was Midsummer, the shortest night of the year, and she knew there wouldn’t be another celebration like this in months. But she didn’t move.

Elias’s face softened. “No one is going to treat you any different,” he said.

Rook looked away. It had been months since she had been given a true name. She was as surprised as everyone when Teisen, who everyone said was a witch, limped into the inn and informed Rook that she would be receiving one. Out of the whole village of Willamett’s End, only Elias’s husband Maedran and Teisen herself had true names. Not even the priestess had one. Rook had half a mind to say no, simply because she hadn't been given much of a choice in the matter. But her parents were impressed, and Teisen insisted. So on a cold spring morning, the first rays of dawn found Rook waist-deep in an icy mountain pool as Teisen took away her name and gave her a new one.

Since then, things _had_ been different. Never more than looks, a whispered word here and there around the village. Rook told herself that it was just people treating her like an adult, as she now undeniably was, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about her now. Even more than there was before.

“Bridget,” Elias said, and Rook started again. Hearing her name, her old name, took her by surprise now. It sounded odd, almost ill-fitting, like putting on an old winter coat that she had outgrown without noticing. But Teisen had warned her never to tell her true name to anyone—not her family, not a husband or wife, not a single soul. Her warning was so forceful and dire that Rook had taken it seriously in spite of herself, so to the rest of the village Bridget she remained.

Elias set down the mugs. “I can carry this out. Why don’t you go and get cleaned up,” he said kindly.

With one more glance out the front door, Rook let out a breath and nodded. Leaving the common room, she climbed up the wooden stairs to the guest room that she usually used when staying at the inn. She had taken to doing that more and more in the last year. Sleeping here, she could be up with Galen to get the water drawn and the cookfire started before dawn. Besides, it wasn’t as if her family was lacking hands back at the farm.

Inside the room, Rook washed her face in the basin that she herself had filled that morning, and used linen scraps to scrub the rest of her as quickly as she could. The trepidation she felt downstairs turned to worry as she changed into a fresh shirt and stepped back into her trousers and boots. She wet her fingers and dragged them through her hair, tucking loose locks behind her ears, before shrugging into a wool jerkin and doing up about half the ties. She had rolled up both her sleeves to the elbow and was roughly combing her hair again before she admitted to herself that she was stalling. The evening light outside the window had faded into a purple dusk. Sighing, she straightened her vest, squared her shoulders, and walked back downstairs.

She had only taken a few hesitant steps through the common room before Galen stepped out of the kitchen with a steaming tray in his hands. “Bridget!” he called. “Here.” The wiry man handed her a platter with a grilled trout laying on a bed of turnips. “Take this out to the serving tables,” he said breathlessly, and hurried back into the kitchen. Rook blinked at the food that had appeared in her hands, smiled despite her mood, and took it outside.

The village square was packed. Tables and benches filled the space around the well, beneath crisscrossing lines strung with ribbons and paper lanterns. People were everywhere, eating food, pouring drinks, moving benches, and chasing children as they ran wildly through the crowd. Sturdy fire baskets glowed with warm coals, and out on the green a low wooden stage had been set up for dancing. Rook carried the tray of fish to the table nearest the inn, and set it down between a bowl of roasted carrots and cauliflower and an apricot pie. On the other side of the table, Della from the orchard looked up from the wheel of cheese she was cutting.

The older woman gave her a smile. “That looks good,” she said.

Rook smiled back, a little nervously. “There’s another coming out soon,” she said.

Della grinned. “Well, then I won’t mind grabbing some now for me and Elsie, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” Rook served Della some trout and turnips, then held her plate while she grabbed a small loaf of dark, crusty bread and poured herself a mug of ale.

“Thank you, Bridget!” Della called as she carried her food back across the square. Rook waved after her, the apprehension in her chest feeling just a little bit lighter. She stayed by the feast tables for a while, serving out food to people who came by and tapping the barrels of heather beer from the inn’s cellar. No one talked with her for long, but she received a number of smiles and familiar greetings, and Rook felt some of the tension in her body ease as the festival wore on.

Finally Galen deposited the last tray of food that would come out of the inn’s kitchen before empty bowls and plates would begin flowing back into the scullery. He clapped Rook on the shoulder and said, “Enough helping. Grab some food and enjoy yourself, while there’s still food to be had.” 

Rook smiled her thanks. She scooped up the last of the fish and turnips into a bowl, along with a whole peach and a heel of bread smeared with goat cheese, before looking for a place to sit. Most of the tables were still busy, heavy with plates and mugs and pots of hot, green tea, but she glimpsed a group around her age on the far side of the square. After a moment of hesitation , she took a deep breath and made her way towards it. “Excuse me,” she said as she slipped onto a bench and put her plate down.

“Bridget!” Across the table, Alyona smiled at her. The miller’s daughter had her dark hair down around her shoulders, and her shirt was laced with a green ribbon. Rook found herself smiling back. She had seen Alyona often since she started helping out at the inn, and although they had never spent much time together, Rook never minded the uphill trek to pick up grain from the mill if it meant the chance to see Alyona smile.

“Hey!” Rook replied. “How are you? How have you been?”

“Busy. It feels like every day there’s twice as much barley to grind than the day before. Not that I’m complaining now.” Alyona mopped gravy off her plate with a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth. “You?” she asked, her voice muffled as she chewed.

Rook nodded as she started eating as well. “I’ve been helping Galen out a lot with the feast,” she said after washing a bite down with a mouthful of ale. She knew the beer was more hearty than intoxicating, but she still felt a buzz in her chest as Alyona’s eyes lit up.

“Really?” She leaned over the table. “What did you do? Did you make anything yourself?”

“Well…” Rook glanced down at the trout in her bowl, glazed red and steaming. She looked up with a smile.

Alyona laughed. “I had some of that! It was really good!”

“No way,” interrupted the boy sitting next to Alyona, who had been talking with her when Rook sat down. Teron, Rook was fairly sure his name was, from Redwheel Farm. “We all know Galen’s cooking when we see it.”

Rook shook her head, but kept a confident smile on her face. “Well yes, Galen _cooked it_. But I helped him plan it out.” She turned away from Teron and leaned over the table, closer to Alyona. “The mulberry sauce was my idea,” she said quietly.

Alyona’s eyes danced in the firelight. “I’m sorry I only had a few bites, then.”

Rook leaned back, looking down at her trout and then back at Alyona. Smiling, she pushed the trout across the table to her. Alyona raised her eyebrows in surprise, but when Rook nodded, she laughed again and took the bowl.

“Thank you very much,” she said with a gracious incline of her head before eagerly digging into the food.

Teron glared at Rook. She ignored him and continued talking with Alyona and a few of the others at the table. She eventually did get more food, pieces roasted rosemary duck and some hot compote of wild brambleberries. She had almost finished eating and was still talking with Alyona when she heard Hyath and Rhea start up a cheerful jig on their instruments over by the dancing boards. As cheers went up around the square, Rook leaned across the table. “Want to dance?” she asked.

A few eyes from around the table shifted to look at her, but Rook kept her gaze on Alyona. She thought she saw Alyona blush, but it was hard to tell in the firelight. Ignoring the looks from around the table, she met Rook’s eyes and said, “Alright.”

Rook stood up and lead the way out onto the green, a grin on her face and a shy smile on Alyona’s. A few people had started dancing already, swinging each other around the stage and stomping in time with the music. Rook hopped up onto the boards and offered her hand down to Alyona, who slipped her hand into Rook’s with a smile. With a surge of confidence as she helped her onto the stage, Rook pulled Alyona closer to her with a spin of her arm. At the same time, Alyona tried to move into a dancing position closer to the center of the stage, and as Rook pulled her in they collided bodily together and almost stumbled back onto the grass. Rook caught her and stopped their momentum before they fell. They looked at each other and started laughing.

“Very graceful,” Alyona said, wiping her eyes.

“Sorry.” Rook grinned and offered her hands. “Shall we?”

Alyona took her hands and they jumped into the dance. The music coming from the drum, flute, and fiddle at the side of the stage was lively and fast. Rook and Alyona spun around the stage and the other dancers, clasped hands flying out and in as they skipped along to the beat. They continued to laugh as they danced, and kept dancing when a new song began and more people crowded onto the stage. The worry Rook had felt earlier that evening was gone, replaced by the exhilaration of movement and the glow of Alyona’s face in the bonfire light.

After the third dance they stumbled off the stage and over to the well, gulping down handfuls of cold water and washing their faces with the rest. “Thank you, Bridget,” Alyona said with a laugh. “But I don’t know if I have any more dancing in me at the moment.”

Rook smiled, pleased with herself. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll see you around?”

Alyona nodded. “I’m sure of it.” She walked off into the festival with a wave, and Rook waved back until she disappeared into the crowd. Buoyed by tired limbs and a light heart, Rook drifted around the tables in the square, much emptier now that so many people had finished eating and moved on to dancing. She passed by Elias playing a game of chess against Jehan, the apothecary. Maedren sat in Elias’s lap, sipping a glass of wine and giving him bad suggestions. She passed by Rowan and Rilsa, the carpenter sisters, playing a game of cards with a slice of pie as the stakes. The cards each had several complex glyphs marked on them in black ink.

She stopped by a table where Old Mabin sat sipping tea and telling riddles to her daughter Annis, whose attention was wholly on the squirming baby in her arms. Coming closer, Rook sat down. “Could you repeat that last one?” she asked the old woman.

Old Mabin turned to her, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “The riddle-guessing game usually gives them in threes,” she said.

“Really?” Rook looked at Annis, who smiled and shrugged. “Alright. Give me three riddles, then.”

Old Mabin smiled. “They come at night without being fetched, leave by day without being stolen,” she said, and sat back to watch Rook.

Rook pondered this for a moment. “Dreams?” she said at last.

“I thought it was stars,” Annis said.

Mabin nodded. “Both good answers. Yes, very good.” She took a sip of green tea. “Now then. What puts its feet towards the sun, and its head into the ground?”

Rook smirked. She had spent enough time in the inn’s garden last winter to know the answer almost immediately. “Leeks,” she said.

That earned her a wrinkled smile. “Last riddle, then. Why does a chicken cross the road?” Mabin wrapped her hands around her teacup and sat back with a pleased expression.

Rook looked at her in confusion, glancing at Annis and then back. “To get to the other side?” she said, although it sounded more like a question.

Old Mabin grinned. “Because it is too long to go around,” she whispered.

Annis groaned. Rook blinked, and then a slow, disbelieving smile crept across her face. Collecting herself, she bowed her head in Mabin’s direction. “Thank you for the game,” she said.

Mabin’s eyes twinkled at her. “You’re very welcome, young woman. Now get along and enjoy your Midsummer.”

Rook promised she would and stood up to continue walking through the festival. The tables were mostly empty now, and she as she passed several of them she paused to stack dirty plates and bowls for easier collection. She had just made it back to the table with the remains of Galen’s cooking when she spotted Alyona walking towards her from across the square. She had a troubled look on her face, and as their eyes met she closed the distance to Rook in a hurry.

“Alyona? What’s wrong?”

Alyona sighed. “It—it’s probably nothing.” Her brow furrowed, her lips pursing in thought. “It’s just that—well, Teron asked me to go into the woods with him. He says he knows where to find a blooming fern.”

Rook’s eyebrows went up. Ferns didn’t have flowers, but she had heard the stories of a magical fern that only bloomed at midnight on Midsummer’s Eve. Its golden flower was supposed to grant a great many wondrous things, depending on the story—usually incredible wealth, but also great luck, the ability to speak the language of beasts, or a good marriage. This last one concerned Rook; she had heard Elias refer to young couples sneaking off during festival nights as “seeking the fern flower,” and the thought of Teron luring Alyona into the woods to proposition her made her stomach twist in an uncomfortable way.

From the look on her face, Alyona was just as uneasy with the idea. “He’s pretty insistent he can find one...” She looked up at Rook with a hopeful expression. “Will you come with me?”

Rook made her mind up in an instant. “Of course,” she said, putting on a confident smile. 

Alyona beamed back at her. “Thank you,” she said, and motioned towards the north side of the village. Looking that way, Rook could just make out Teron standing by the edge of the common cow pasture. Beyond him loomed the dark shape of the forest, its jagged silhouette of tall pines a deeper shadow in the summer night. Rook paused long enough to pick up a paper lantern with a small tallow candle flickering inside, and followed Alyona away from the square.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally whiffed that Smooth Move check on the dancing boards. Luckily she had the Charisma to make up for it.


	2. Chapter 2

Teron did not look pleased to see Rook accompanying Alyona to the edge of the cow pasture, but he only said, “It’s this way. Come on,” and pointed towards the forest with a paper lantern of his own. He led the way through the tall, flowering grass of the pasture, Alyona and Rook following close behind. Fireflies floated drunkenly away from them as they passed, and far above the full moon grew brighter and brighter as they left the fires and warm windows of the village behind.

The edge of the northern woods was a scraggly line of birch and alder trees, and years of grazing cattle had cut broad paths that were easy to follow as the three of them stepped beneath the forest boughs. Even so, it surprised Rook just how dark the forest was, and how quickly the light of the moon and their lanterns was swallowed up by the shadows between the trees. Teron kept confidently on his course, however, even as the cow paths thinned to game trails and the younger trees gave way to towering pines and old, heavy oaks.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Rook asked as they carefully picked their way down the side of a steep hill.

Up ahead, Teron nodded. “Remember when Ewen and I left the festival early last year, after stealing that cask of Hama’s ale?”

“Don’t you mean after you two were sent home after stealing that cask of Hama’s ale?” Alyona said. She and Rook shared a smile in the lantern light.

Teron huffed. “Anyway, I took a walk in the woods, and that’s when I saw the flower. I couldn’t figure out how to get to it in the dark, but I went back the next day.”

“It was there?” Alyona asked, surprised.

“Well, no,” Teron said. He set off again through the trees, peering into the dark with his lantern held high. “But I retraced my steps, and I marked the spot I saw it blooming. It took most of the day, but I found a path up to it that should be somewhere—there!” With a shout, Teron broke into a run and began swiftly climbing a steep rise studded with aspen trees. Rook and Alyona looked at each other in surprise, and started after him.

They caught up with Teron at the top of the hill, where he stood looking out into a small moonlit clearing. In the center of the clearing grew a massive fern,with a golden, five-petaled flower blooming at its highest point. The flower’s face was open to the moon and almost seemed to glow with its own light.

“Oh,” Rook whispered as all three of them stared in astonishment at the fern. “So he wasn’t full of—” She stopped, looking down at the green and grey shadows of the forest floor. There, their tiny white heads peeking just above the thick clover and dead leaves, she saw a ring of mushrooms completely surrounding the blooming fern.

Rook felt a chill across the back of her neck, despite the comfortably cool summer night air. She had also heard stories about those. Her mother still set out a plate of milk and bread on the back stoop most nights, and Rook had learned enough from her to know that stepping into a faerie ring was always a bad idea. “Teron,” she said, her voice low and warning, but Teron was already striding forward towards the fern. Alyona was a few steps behind him, approaching cautiously but with wonder in her eyes. “Teron,” Rook said again, louder this time. When he didn’t stop she rushed forward and grabbed his shoulder from behind. “Teron, stop, it’s a—”

Teron’s foot stepped over the ring of mushrooms. In an instant the vision of the blooming fern vanished, and the ground gave out from under them.

She was falling. Rook heard Alyona scream, but all she could see were leaves and roots and earth whipping by as she rolled down a slick, muddy slope. The canopy of the trees and the distant stars beyond flashed overhead as she tumbled uncontrollably down, her hips and shoulders banging painfully against earth and stone. Then, as suddenly as before, the earth beneath her disappeared. For one heart-stopping second she was falling through nothing but air, before she plunged into the dark and freezing waters of a forest pool.

The shock of the water stunned her for a moment, but before her mind had even told her body to swim upwards she broke the surface of the water and sucked in a deep and desperate breath. She hurriedly wiped the water out of her eyes, looking around for her friends. She had no idea where her paper lantern was, but in the moonlight she could see the limp forms of two bodies in the water. Surging forward with a cry, her feet only barely able to touch the bottom of the pool, she grabbed both of them and began to tug them over to the nearest shore.

Alyona and Teron were limp and unresisting as Rook dragged them out of the water. In a panic Rook felt their mouths for breath, and almost collapsed with relief when she felt a tickle of air coming from both of their lips. Their eyes were closed, however, as if they were sleeping. Worry bubbled in Rook’s chest, rising into a boil when she began to shake them and they still did not wake. “Hey,” she said, her voice high and sharp. “Hey, wake up. Wake up!” She quickly checked their heads, but couldn’t find any bumps or open wounds. Panic spiked through her, and she was just about to slap Teron across the face when she realized that someone was watching her.

Across the pool, a woman sat on a large stone jutting out into the water. She looked older than Rook, although she could not say what it was about her appearance that gave Rook that impression. Her eyes were deep and dark in the half-light, and a wet braid of white hair drooped over one shoulder. She wore only a damp tunic, and her bare legs crossed over the edge of the stone, feet dipping just below the water’s surface.

“Help!” Rook called. She motioned to Alyona and Teron lying motionless on the shore. “Help, please! My friends—”

The woman pushed herself off the stone and disappeared below the surface of the pond. Rook jumped to her feet, but almost too quickly the woman rose again from the water, only a few feet from where Rook stood.

“They will not wake,” the woman said, her voice deep and still as a frozen lake. “Very few can withstand the enchantment of my pool.” She cocked her head, gazing thoughtfully at Rook. “Is it perhaps because you have a name?” Rook swallowed instead of speaking, and the strange woman smiled. “Perhaps you will give it to me, that I might know what to call my unexpected guest.”

Rook froze. Fear far colder than her soaked and dripping clothes seeped down into her bones. Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to back away from this woman, wanted to turn and run back home. She knew with a certainty she could not explain that the woman in front of her was not mortal. Every instinct she had told her to run, but she couldn’t leave Alyona behind. Slowly, she took a step to the side, placing herself between the strange woman and Alyona’s sleeping form. 

The woman’s eyes followed her, deep and untroubled, awaiting an answer. Rook bit her lip. She knew better than to tell her name— _ give _ her name, that’s what the woman had said—to any immortal, least of all some sort of faerie creature. Teisen’s warning echoed in her head: not to tell anyone her true name. “Your true name and your self are one,” she had said as she pulled Rook shivering out of the cold mountain spring. “To know a creature’s true name is to have power over it. Do not surrender that power, under any circumstances.” Faced with someone not human, Rook now felt the true weight of that command. If half of what Rook had heard about the Fair Folk was true, she did not want to give this woman her village name either. But she also knew that if she truly was the intruder here, then acting according to the rules of politeness and hospitality might be the only way of figuring out what happened to Teron and Alyona. She had to say  _ something. _

“My aunt calls me ‘good-for-nothing,’” she said cautiously. “And it’s true enough for a name, I suppose.”

The woman tilted her head to the other side, considering Rook’s words as she looked her over from head to toe. “No, I do not think it is,” she murmured. 

“But—” Rook began, but stopped when the woman smiled. 

“I think I shall call you  _ Rook _ ,” she said, “Since you came crashing into my home with such an ungainly cawing.”

Rook blushed in spite of herself, but she didn’t protest. “Alright. Rook.”

The woman nodded in satisfaction. “And you may call me Rusalka, for that is what I am.”

“Rusalka.” Rook glanced above her and glimpsed the muddy trickle of water that marked the slope she and her friends had fallen down. “I’m sorry for intruding, I—I know better than to trespass on one of the Good Neighbors, but my friends and I fell. That one stepped into a faerie ring, I tried to warn him, but—”

“Is there a human village nearby?” Rusalka asked.

Rook stopped and looked at her. Rusalka’s face was open—and beautiful, Rook thought with another blush—and seemingly honest. Slowly, Rook nodded. “Yes, that’s where we’re from. It’s been there for ages.”

Rusalka shook her head, her long white braid heavy with water and swaying behind her back. “This pool is my home, and I am bound to it. For only one night each year can I leave it, and that night is Midsummer’s Eve. I rarely venture far.”

“Oh.” Rook looked at the pond, almost black in the moonlight, then down at Teron and Alyona. “What’s wrong with my friends?” she asked. “You said they were enchanted. Can you undo it?”

Rusalka went quiet. “No,” she said finally. She looked out into the woods with a solemn expression. “I have a journey I must make this night. There is something that I must recover, and I must return with it before dawn.” She looked back at Rook. “Only if I am successful will I have the power to wake your companions.”

Rook took a deep breath. “I’ll help you,” she said.

Rusalka’s white eyebrows rose. “You will accompany me through the wood, help me obtain what I seek, and ensure that I return before sunrise?”

Rook’s stomach clenched, but she nodded. “And in return, you lift the spell on my friends.”

Rusalka smiled softly. “Very fair. We have a deal.”

At her words a shiver went down Rook’s spine. She shook off the feeling and knelt to drag Alyona and Teron into what she hoped would be more comfortable positions. “I’ll be back soon,” she whispered to Alyona’s sleeping face, then stood and walked back to where Rusalka stood at the edge of the pool. 

“Alright,” she said. “What is it that you need to do?”

Rusalka’s expression saddened, and she gazed at Rook with somber eyes. “I need to retrieve my heart.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rook left Teron and Alyona behind and followed Rusalka into the forest. The moonlit pool disappeared almost immediately, and the woods quickly grew thick with bracken and towering old trees. But as the forest closed in around them, Rook was surprised to find she could still see, even without her lantern. Silver moonlight seemed to follow them, far too bright for the tangled canopy above, and as they walked Rook began to see white, wispy lights dancing in the air like dandelion seeds. The trees they passed were larger than any she had ever seen walking in this forest before, and the air was warm and strangely sweet. She did her best to stick close to Rusalka, who walked swiftly and assuredly through the deep wood. Wherever she stepped there was a game trail that Rook had not noticed, and it seemed as if the forest itself was opening up before Rusalka and closing quickly behind Rook as they passed.

It was some time before either of them spoke. “So…” Rook cleared her throat. “Where are we going?”

Rusalka glanced down at her. She moved like water, the steps of her bare feet flowing in a way that was languid haste and rippling stillness all at once. The moonlight turned her white hair into molten silver and her skin to fresh snow, but her eyes were still dark. Rook found it difficult to look away from them.

“Across the forest,” Rusalka said. “There is an old human ruin there, on a hill overlooking a wooded ravine. But the way is far, and I am afraid I have already tarried too long. We must return to my pool before sunrise.”

“What happens if we don’t?” Rook asked.

“I will die.”

She said it so quietly, with such utter assurance and calm, that Rook had to look away. Out in the woods, shadows danced beneath drifting lights. “I’m sorry.”

“I am Rusalka,” she said. After a moment of silence, she added, “Do not fear for me, little Rook. Though it is a long way, we can seek assistance crossing the forest.”

Rook looked up. “Really? From whom?”

As she spoke, the sound of inhuman laughter rang like silver chimes in the distance. Rusalka inclined her head, and Rook followed her through a break in the trees and out into a wide, grassy meadow. The full moon cast long shadows across the field, which was dotted with several large, weathered stones. More of the floating lights drifted above them, gathering in clumps to make strange, golden lanterns in the air. On one mostly flat stone rested a feast unlike anything Rook had ever seen—stacks of strange cakes and frosted honeybreads, baskets of living branches filled with unnameable fruits, rounds of fey cheese paler than the moon, and dark wine in goblets of crystalline ice. 

On stones nearby sat three figures, eating and drinking and laughing. A bare-chested woman reclined with a crown of yellow flowers on her head, but her hips and legs were furred and goat-like. She had cloven hooves instead of feet, and a goat’s ears and horns peeked out from her thick brown hair. Next to her sat a naked woman with a tangle of green, leafy hair falling to her waist, and white-grey skin banded with dark, rough marks like birch bark. Seeing them Rook felt her cheeks grow hot, and she quickly averted her gaze. Across from the two women sat a tall man in a fine green doublet and doeskin breeches. Golden hair poured down his shoulders like water, and his eyes glinted like ice in the low light. A hardanger fiddle sat in the grass by his feet.

All three turned to watch Rusalka and Rook approach them. “Rusalka!” the woman with hair like leaves called, her face lit with a wide smile. “Have you come to spend your one night of freedom with us?”

Next to her, the goat-woman scowled. “What strange guest have you brought to our revel, Rusalka? A human girl, to walk the faerie woods on Midsummer’s Eve? What, are we to eat her?”

The faerie man laughed, and it was a sharp, mirthless sound. Rusalka stopped, her eyes cast down in what Rook realized was a self-conscious expression. Rook stayed close behind her. 

“I—I have pressing business across the river,” Rusalka stammered. She looked up hopefully at the tree-woman. “I had hoped to ask you, Aspen, for the favor of shortening my journey.”

Understanding dawned on the dryad’s face. She opened her mouth to speak, but the goat-woman interrupted, “What business could you possibly have that is more important than spending Midsummer with us in celebration and song?”

“Forsythia,” Aspen chided, and turned back to Rusalka. “I will miss you dearly, Rusalka, for it has been many summers since last we spoke. But my fondness for you is too great to refuse. Very well.” Rusalka nodded her thanks, her face relieved as Aspen stood.

“Wait.” The word cut cold through the hazy summer air. Rook turned to look at the faerie man, who sat up with a cruel and cunning smile on his lips. “With Aspen cutting the distance you must travel tonight, surely you can spare a few moments? It would do you good. And I am deeply curious to learn more about your new...friend.” His gaze turned to Rook. She met it, but couldn’t help taking a step back.

Forsythia clapped her hands. “An excellent suggestion! Stay for a song, Rusalka, I insist.”

Rusalka glanced between the two of them, and reluctantly lowered herself to an unoccupied stone beside the faerie feast. She looked apologetically at Rook, who followed suit and knelt next to her in the grass. Aspen sat back down with a slightly worried expression as Forsythia happily began to cut into a fresh wheel of cheese.

The faerie man’s eyes hadn't left Rook. “It has been some time since last I supped with mortal men,” he said. “Rusalka has not yet given us your name.”

Rusalka’s expression froze, and Rook swallowed. “That is because she does not know it,” she said in as polite a tone as she could manage.

The faerie man lifted a single eyebrow. “Oh? Perhaps you might share it with us, then.”

“I might.” Rook didn’t say anything else.

Aspen, Forsythia, and Rusalka watched Rook and the faerie man stare at each other. As the silence stretched, his expression grew darker and more annoyed. “What is your name, human girl?”

“The subject of much debate lately.”

Forsythia snorted, and the faerie man shot her an irritated look. “Are you hungry?” he asked. Reaching into one of the baskets, he pulled out a pomegranate and offered it to Rook. “I promise it is unlike anything you have ever tasted.”

Rook cleared her throat. Even if she didn’t know any better, the sly expression on the man’s face was reason enough for her to refuse. “Thank you,” she said, “But I ate plenty at my village’s own festival.”

The man’s expression flattened. In a rush, Aspen said, “How shall we spend your brief stay here, Rusalka? A song, perhaps, or a dance?”

Forsythia nodded. “A dance! A rarity, with your feet stuck in water most of the year.”

Rusalka looked unsure, and the faerie man spoke up. “Let us hear from the daughter of men,” he suggested, putting the pomegranate down and picking up a glass of dark red wine. “What merriment can you offer us on this fair summer night?”

All eyes fell to Rook. She glanced at Rusalka for help, but she looked almost as worried as Rook felt. She gave Rusalka what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Considering her words carefully before she spoke, she turned to meet the faerie man’s eyes. “Well, I would dance, but I fear you would find me as ungainly as a crow. I would sing, but you would find my voice as harsh as a jay.”

The faerie man’s eyes shone in triumph, and what small amount of confidence Rook had mustered drained away as he said, “But you must be as clever as a raven, the way you talk in riddles. We will play a game of them, you and I.”

“Not another of your riddle games! They are so  _ boring _ ,” Forsythia cried, throwing herself back on her stone with a dramatic toss of her arms. Rusalka’s worried expression grew grave. The faerie man grinned at Rook with a smile sharp as knives.

“Shit,” Rook muttered under her breath.

“Three riddles each, I should think,” the man said. “And I will give you the advantage. If I should fail to guess but one of your riddles, I will forfeit immediately. Agreed?” He scarcely waited long enough for Rook to nod. “Excellent. I shall begin.” He took a sip of his wine, then leaned forward with a hungry expression. “The warmer it gets the more it doth wear, but in chill it sheds clothing until it is bare. What is it?”

Rook put a hand on her chin, thinking through the riddle. Her eyes fell on Aspen, and she blushed again at the dryad’s nakedness. Clearing her throat, she looked back up at the faerie man. “A tree?” she asked.

The faerie man’s smile vanished, and he leaned backwards, wordlessly gesturing for Rook to give her first riddle.

Rook thought back to the riddles that Old Mabin had asked her earlier that evening. “They come at night without being fetched, leave by day without being stolen,” she recalled aloud.

The man smirked and gestured casually at the sky. “Stars,” he said. Rook paused, then nodded. Better not to push her luck this early in the contest.

The faerie man leaned forward again. “Shining teeth that downward thrust, spears that break but never rust.” He raised his golden eyebrows expectantly.

Rook thought and thought. Silence stretched on, and she glanced over to Rusalka, who was gazing out into the woods with a furrowed brow. They were losing time. With a sigh, Rook admitted, “I don’t know.”

“Icicles!” Forsythia said, and the faerie man smiled.

“That puts me ahead,” he said. “But please, don’t stop. What others do you know?”

Rook squared her shoulders and repeated Old Mabin’s second riddle. “What puts its feet towards the sun, and its head into the ground?”

“Leeks,” the man said in a bored tone of voice. He looked over to his companions and rolled his eyes before turning back to Rook. “Now then...She fights better than a wolf, waits longer than a stone, proves stronger than steel, bites iron with rust; in time, she does the same to us.” He paused, then with a wicked smile added, “Well, to you perhaps, daughter of men.”

Rook looked down and studied the grass for a few moments, thinking furiously. The faerie man watched her with a cold, triumphant smile. Rook far preferred Mabin’s riddles to the puzzles of this faerie creature, whatever he was. She was sure Mabin would know the answer, and almost wished the old woman were here to help.

_ Mabin _ . Rook blinked, then looked up. “Old age,” she said.

The man’s expression soured, and he almost spit, “So what is your final riddle then, human?”

Rook paused. Did she dare? But a smile was already spreading across her face. “Why does a chicken cross the road?”

The man froze and stared at Rook. His face was a picture of pure bafflement. “ _ What? _ ” 

Rook looked him in the eye. “Why does a chicken cross the road?” she repeated.

“Do you take me for a simpleton? Every mortal child knows this!” he almost shouted. “It is to get to the other side, is it not?”

Rook’s smile split into a grin. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Because it is too long to go around.”

Shocked, disbelieving anger filled the faerie man’s face, and the ice goblet shattered in his hand as his fist clenched in rage. His eyes burned into Rook, and he rose to his feet, wine dripping off his fingers. “Why, you—”

Aspen and Rusalka both stood. “Now, Nøkken—” Aspen began, while Rusalka said, “I am sorry, but we really must be leaving—”

The faerie man silenced them both with a murderous glare. Closing his eyes, he forcefully regained his composure before turning back to Rook with an expression of polite hatred. “Congratulations,” he said through gritted teeth. He picked up the pomegranate and shoved it into Rook’s hands. “I insist that you take this as a reward for besting me.” Rook hesitated, conscious to keep her hands from closing around the fruit. The man’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You would not offend me by refusing, would you?” he asked. His voice shook with barely controlled fury, and Rook reluctantly took the pomegranate from him. “Taste it,” he growled.

She glanced at Rusalka, who gave the slightest shake of her head. “Thank you,” Rook said, “But the urgency of our task has dampened my appetite. But I will surely try some on our return.”

“And we really must be going,” Rusalka insisted with a pleading glance at Aspen.

The dryad nodded. “Yes, of course. Follow me.” With a motion of her hand, she lead Rook and Rusalka away from the faerie feast and towards the far edge of the meadow. The faerie man glared at Rook until they were out of sight, his eyes never leaving her even as he sat and picked up the hardanger fiddle at his feet.

Soon they were back under the boughs and leaves of the forest, and the meadow disappeared behind them. Aspen lead the way through the forest, Rook and Rusalka following close behind. The pomegranate was heavy in Rook’s hands.

Rusalka leaned close. “Be wary of the Nøkken,” she said. “He is prideful and covetous, and he has a cruel heart. You are fortunate that it was  _ my _ pool you stumbled upon, and not his. The song from his fiddle would enthrall you, and there is no night he is more fond of playing than Midsummer’s Eve.”

Rook nodded. “I probably shouldn’t eat this,” she said, raising the pomegranate.

Rusalka looked it over. “If you were to have but one seed, I think you would be eating it forever.”

Rook’s eyes widened a little, but she nodded, and the two of them followed Aspen into the forest.


	4. Chapter 4

They weren’t following Aspen long before she lead them to an unusually thick aspen tree. “She should get you to the other side of the river,” Aspen said, patting the tree affectionately. She turned to Rusalka. “I am sorry Nøkken was so rude. I will not blame you if you do not stop by on your return journey, although I will miss you all the same.”

“Thank you, Aspen.” Rusalka nodded at Rook. “This way,” she said, and stepped  _ into _ the tree. Rook blinked in surprise as Rusalka vanished, as if the aspen were but a curtain she had stepped behind. Rook looked at Aspen, but the dryad merely smiled.

“Don’t take any iron with you,” she said.

Rook nodded. Iron, of course. She checked herself, but her buttons and belt buckle were still only horn. Steeling herself, and with a nod of encouragement from Aspen, Rook followed Rusalka through the tree.

It was the strangest sensation Rook had ever felt. Darkness pressed in on her, clogging her mouth and nose with the scent of green wood, and she was overwhelmed with the feeling of being rushed down a river and buried alive in the earth both at once. Then, as quickly as it began, it ceased. She was out in the night air again, standing in front of a  _ different _ aspen tree in an unfamiliar spot in the woods. Rusalka stood nearby, waiting for her.

“This way,” she said, and Rook followed her. Looking around, Rook guessed they were now on the far northeastern edge of the valley, but she had no way of knowing for sure. Tall, dry grass filled in the gaps between the trees, and moonlight turned leaves to silver coins.

“Did we travel far?” she asked Rusalka.

“Not too far to walk back, but far enough that I worried to walk it twice.”

“Right.” She looked up at the moon drifting across the sky. The night was waning. Back in Willamett’s End, the festival would be well over by now. She was actually feeling hungry again, despite the feast. Surprisingly hungry, in fact. Rook stopped and put a hand on a tree to steady herself as a stab of hunger twisted her stomach.

Rusalka stopped and looked back. “Rook? Are you well?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine, I just—” Sudden hunger wracked her body, a roiling pain starting in her gut and stabbing outward. Rook doubled over, clutching her stomach. “Rusalka?” she called, panic creeping into her voice.

She was by Rook’s side, placing a cool hand on her back, her eyes wide. “ _ Féar gortach _ ,” she whispered.

“What?”

Rusalka’s lips pressed together. “Hungry grass. A spirit of chaos. Oh Rook, I am sorry. Of course, you are mortal. I forgot its curse would affect you so.” She pointed out through the grass. “Look. It is there.”

With an effort Rook raised her head and looked where she pointed. Hunger pains blurred her vision, but through the tall grass she saw a shrivelled body, no more than bones under the stretched parchment of ancient skin, sitting against the trunk of a tree. The pain in her gut sharpened, and she cried out as she fell to one knee. “What do I do?” she cried.

Fear and uncertainty filled Rusalka’s face. “Do you have any food? Enough to last you till the edge of the grass?”

“I have the pomegranate the Nøkken gave me.”

“No, not that.” Rusalka bit her pale lip, hand still on Rook’s back as she looked around for some possible solution.

Rook grit her teeth and forced her head up again. “Could...could I give  _ it _ the pomegranate?”

Rusalka blinked. “I—I do not know. I suppose you could try, but I know not what will happen.”

Rook let out a breath and moved a shaking hand to the belt pouch where she had stuffed the faerie fruit. As she pulled it free, the sight of food sent a physical shock through her body. Her hand involuntarily brought the pomegranate whole up to her mouth, her jaws opening.

“Rook!” Rusalka cried in alarm.

She couldn’t stop herself from raising the pomegranate to her lips. At the last moment, she shoved her other hand into her mouth and bit down on the base of her thumb instead. Piercing pain in her hand cut through the haze of hunger clouding her mind, and the rest of her body sagged as she regained control of her limbs. As quickly as she could she hurled the pomegranate away from her and towards the shrivelled corpse.

The féar gortach moved, its bony arm snapping out and catching the pomegranate out of the air. In two, sharp movements, it twisted and tore the pomegranate open. With one bony hand the skeletal figure began plucking individual seeds and placing them into its mouth, almost faster than the eye could follow. Rook’s hunger disappeared instantly, and Rusalka helped her stagger to her feet and out of the grass. She lead Rook to long-fallen tree covered in lichen and sat her down.

“How do you feel?” she asked, worry plain on her face.

“I’m alright,” Rook coughed, clutching her hand. She inspected the bite marks, and pressed the heel of her hand into the tail of her shirt to staunch the bleeding. “How long will it be eating that?” she asked.

Rusalka shook her head. “I do not know. Forever, perhaps.” She eyed Rook’s wounded hand, her face falling. “I am very sorry, Rook.”

Rook shook her head. “It’s alright. No lasting harm. See?” She showed Rusalka her palm, which had stopped bleeding.

Rusalka looked relieved, and nodded. “Come,” she said. “We are very nearly there.”

They walked in silence for some time. When she caught glimpses of the moon through the trees, Rook could see it was already on its way towards the western horizon. She was tired, and her hand hurt, but she kept walking.

“Rusalka,” she asked. “How did you lose your heart?”

Rusalka was quiet for a moment. “Last year I wandered into the forest to enjoy Midsummer’s Eve, further from my pool than perhaps was wise. I came across an old human ruin, which I had never before seen. That is where I met the woman in red.”

Rook looked at her, but Rusalka’s gaze was in the past.

“We spent the night together,” she said softly, and a faint darkness touched her cheeks as she smiled. She was silent for a moment or two, then shook her head, returning to the present. “I returned to my pool safely before dawn, but when the sun rose, I realized that I had left my heart behind.”

“You— _ oh _ .” Rook took this in. “It wasn’t—you just—oh.”

Rusalka smiled at her, a little sadly. The two walked on until a break in the trees ahead glowed with the promise of a clearing. Rook and Rusalka stepped out from beneath the boughs to the sight of an old stone church bathed in moonlight. It stood on the crest of a deep ravine, looking down onto a blanket of trees that eventually climbed the walls of the valley. The roof and doors of the building had long since rotted away, and the mismatched stone of the walls was thick with ivy. 

"The tower," Rusalka said, and Rook saw the thin shadow of an old tower rising above the walls of the church, now topped with just a bare platform of stone. "We spent much of the night gazing at the stars. And at...each other." The pale, almost blue blush returned to Rusalka's cheeks and she looked away. "That is where my heart will be."

There was no path up to the church. Rusalka and Rook pushed their way through tall, tufted grasses and stepped through the gateless entrance into the building. Bright moonlight poured through the missing roof, illuminating crumbled stone pillars and thick clover and white dandelions instead of a floor. At the far end of the building, the back wall was was mostly taken up by a stained glass window. It was still intact, depicting a woman with enormous wings of white feathers spreading from her back, a halo of light around her upturned face. It almost glowed in the light of the moon. Rook’s breath caught as she gazed up at it.

A gasp of pain beside her returned Rook to her senses, and she turned to see Rusalka staggering back against the wall.

“Rusalka?” Rook rushed to her side. “Rusalka, what’s wrong?”

Rusalka’s breathing was ragged, her voice strained. “Holy ground,” she gasped. “So faint, I did not notice before. But without my heart…” She shook her head. “I do not think that I am strong enough.”

“I’ll carry you,” Rook said without hesitation. Rusalka looked up at her, and nodded. Rook slipped one of Rusalka’s arms around her shoulders and lifted her up onto her feet. Together they stumbled towards a dark archway on the side of the interior wall, above which the old tower loomed.

“Thank you,” Rusalka whispered. Rook smiled at her, and took a little more of Rusalka’s weight as they passed through the doorway. Inside was dark, but she could see the ledges of a staircase spiralling upward along the walls of the tower. They passed over the greened remains of an old bronze bell half-buried in the earth and began to climb.

It was slow going. The steps were narrow and uneven, and Rook stumbled more than once. Rusalka worsened as they climbed, shaking and growing delirious as if from fever.

“I feel so heavy,” she muttered, eyes closed. “So very heavy. How do you mortals bear it?”

Sweat beaded Rook’s face and her muscles burned by the time they made it to the top of the tower. The belfry was long gone, and the stone floor was now roofed only with the vast dome of stars that spread across the sky above them. Near the far edge of the tower floated a tiny, shining mote of pure white light.

Rusalka opened her eyes, and Rook lowered her down beside the light. Rusalka reached out her hands and gently cupped the tiny star. It hovered in her hands as she lifted it up. She stared at it for a moment, eyes shining with the light it radiated, then closed her eyes and embraced it. The light disappeared into her chest. 

Rook held her breath. Rusalka was utterly still. Then she smiled, and her body relaxed, the exhaustion that had wracked her falling away like an old cloak. She opened her eyes, and they were shining.


	5. Chapter 5

The return journey took longer without Aspen’s help, but there was no need to rush. The faerie paths opened easily before Rusalka as they walked, while will-o'-wisps danced in the air above them. Rusalka watched the summer woods with clear and contended eyes, her earlier haste forgotten as she drank in the night.

"How do you feel?" Rook asked.

“Much restored, many thanks to you. I would not have been able to complete my journey without your aid.”

“Of—of course.” Rook looked away. “I mean, you did the same for me. And I said I would help, anyway.”

“Regardless, I will strive to be more careful with my heart in the future.” Rusalka’s eyes fell on Rook. “It is not a thing to be given lightly.”

Rook didn’t know what to say to that, so she just nodded. She and Rusalka kept walking.

The sky was a noticeably lighter shade of blue when they made it back to Rusalka’s pool, and the moon had disappeared behind the western trees. Rook rushed to where Alyona and Teron still lay, kneeling at Alyona’s side and taking her hand. Rusalka followed, and gently touched Teron and Alyona each between their closed eyes. Slowly, they both began to stir.

“They will be disoriented,” Rusalka said as she stepped back into the shallows of her pool. “You must lead them away from here before they will be freed from the spell.”

“Thank you,” Rook said, self consciously dropping Alyona’s hand as the other girl began to shift on the hard stone. “I honestly didn’t know what making a promise with one of the Fair Folk was going to lead to, but I’m glad I did.”

Rusalka smiled. “On the contrary, it is you who have gotten the upper hand of me in that regard. Our deal is done, but you will be leaving with something unaccounted in our bargain.”

Rook looked up as she stood, confused. “I will?”

Rusalka nodded. “My thanks,” she said, and with a careful stoop she placed a cold kiss upon Rook’s forehead. “May it give you luck, when next you need it.”

The skin that had felt Rusalka’s lips chilled in the cool air, but Rook felt her cheeks warm as she simply nodded and stuttered in response. From behind her she heard Alyona let out a yawn, and with a start Rook turned to see her and Teron slowly sitting up and blinking blearily around the pool. Rook’s shoulders slumped in relief, and she turned back to Rusalka, only to find an empty, gently rippling pool behind her.

“Bridget?” Alyona mumbled. “Where—what happened?”

“Where’s the fern?” Teron peered about, blurry-eyed and blinking.

“I’ll tell you on the way home,” Rook said, turning back to her two soaked and drowsy friends. “Come on.”

Rook lead them away from the pool, and it wasn’t long before the tall, strange trees gave way to the familiar cow-paths near the border of the woods. Rook tried to explain the events of the night as they walked, but sleep clung to Teron and Alyona most of the way, and she had to stop in her telling multiple times to keep them from wandering off or napping against tree trunks whenever she paused to get her bearings. When they finally emerged from the forest and stood looking down upon the village of Willamett’s End, a clear glow lined the eastern horizon. The fires from the festival had burned out, but there were a few farmers and villagers still slumped over the tables in the square with blankets and cloaks thrown charitably over their sleeping forms.

When they made it back to the village Teron left them to stagger back towards Red Wheel Farm, but Rook stayed with Alyona as she walked up the hill towards her mother’s mill. The sun hadn’t yet begun to rise when they stopped outside her door. Alyona turned to Rook and smiled sleepily up at her.

“Thank you, Bridget. For...uh…” She paused, blinking. “Let’s meet up tomorrow,” she said finally. “You can...tell me this story you were going on about.”

“Sounds great,” Rook said with a smile.

Alyona nodded. “Yes. I...I think I’m going to sleep now. Good night, Bridget.”

“Good night, Alyona.”

Rook held the door for Alyona as she slipped inside. Tanya the miller was already awake for the day’s work, and her eyes went from Alyona to Rook as her daughter walked in with a sleepy greeting. Rook gave a cautious wave, which only earned her a roll of Tanya’s eyes as the miller went back to her task at near their small hearth.

The walk down from the mill to the inn didn’t take long. As Rook walked around the back to let herself into the kitchen, she paused and looked up to where the shadow of the northern woods stood dark and opaque in the pre-dawn light. Even as she went inside to wearily get started on her daily chores, it loomed in her thoughts. She could not help but feel that something about her life had just changed forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This first part is definitely the roughest; in the next two adventures, Rook gets a lot more active (as my girlfriend got more comfortable playing her) and thus a lot easier to write! Still, I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
